


Growing Obsession

by Jadeleaf



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Gen, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadeleaf/pseuds/Jadeleaf
Summary: Death threatens to drag him down, but Ginoza is determined to focus on life.
Relationships: Ginoza Nobuchika & Tsunemori Akane
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Growing Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick drabble to get me in the writing mood, but turned into something a bit bigger. I blame Akane for insisting on a larger role.

It was easy to fall into obsession. The space they occupied was small and, while bigger than isolation, there is only so much stimulation available. Kougami obsessed over Sasayama. First, it was through his training; then smoking; and finally, the case that undid them both. 

Drugs were tempting. The ones that helped send one somewhere else with the help of a VR headset, but Ginoza already resolved not to deceive himself anymore. He wanted to be able to look at the ugliest bits of the World and still see the light, the way Tsunemori did as she talked another psycho pass down to 299. He stopped himself from obsessing over her, forcing himself to look at her flaws not because he wanted to tear her down (the way he had sometimes in the past), but to remind himself that she was human too and would be crushed under the weight of responsibility if they all assumed she was invincible. 

Death was easy to obsess over, and Ginoza struggled to keep his thoughts away from it. His confession to Tsunemori should have sent him straight back to the psyche ward. However, she was kind, so the worst he received were more frequent check-ins and occasional awkward questions that gradually reduced in frequency as time passed.

Ginoza was never sure what prompted him to start cooking in the first place. Perhaps the memory of Kagari gave him the idea (he had already briefly attempted to use his father’s old brushes with disastrous results). His cooking was nearly as bad as his creativity, but soon it became secondary to a greater interest. Anything grown in their modern world was supposed to be perfect genetically – fish without a skeleton, olives without pits, watermelon without seeds. However, even genetics could not be perfect every time. Ginoza soon began to carefully remove any seeds from the fruit and vegetables he ordered, no matter how stunted, and gently planted them in well-prepared soil. He even bought a sun lamp to give them the perfect amount of light. 

Like his determination to keep his remaining team alive, the vegetable garden was supposed to become a futile endeavour. Companies were careful to guard their trade secrets, and plants were grown with infertile seeds, if any grew at all. However, Ginoza still found himself combing through his supply each week and doing his best to coax something from the few grains of potential life he found. It quickly became his obsession, but one Ginoza didn’t mind, since it only cost time and money – both he could spare. He wasn’t disappointed each morning when he checked on them only to see rows of bare soil. Ginoza knew he was being foolish, but it was mostly harmless, so he allowed it (something unthinkable in his previous life). At the very least, it seemed to redirect his thoughts on death into something slightly healthier.

Months passed, Ginoza continued his routine. Risa joined the tiny circle of people he aimed to protect and, almost as if the Universe had set up a reminder of his own powerlessness, was gone before he could process the idea of them becoming real friends. That evening, Tsunemori forced herself into his space. Togane had successfully managed to fill Kougami’s old spot and Ginoza was feeling particularly useless when she descended the stairs, greeted only by Dime.

“You and Inspector Aoyanagi joined together, didn’t you.”

Unable to determine whether it was a statement or question, Ginoza continued to stare through the wall ahead. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Tsunemori. He was almost afraid of what he would see.

The sudden cracking of glass drew Ginoza’s attention to his prosthetic, where his glass of whisky, or scotch - he hadn’t really cared when he poured it - had splintered. It wasn’t deep enough to go all the way through, but he switched hands to prevent it accidentally shattering, his nail worrying across the new crack. Something to focus on that wasn’t death.

Tsunemori must have given up on trying to engage with him because he heard footsteps on the other side of the room, towards his ‘garden.’ He usually left the light on during the day, turning it off when he returned from work. His mind was somewhere else this evening. The light was still on.

“What are you growing?”

This time, he couldn’t dodge such an obvious question. He had never mentioned his obsession, because there was nothing to talk about. It kept his thoughts of death further away and that seemed enough for him. With a quiet sigh, he set the glass on the table.

“Nothing. It’s nearly impossible to find seeds anymore.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause. “What’s this, then?”

Ginoza glanced over. Tsunemori was staring at him, but her hand was very close to one of the trays of seeds. She didn’t know anything about it, so he felt little embarrassment when he eventually pushed himself from his seat and joined her in front of the workbench. Out of habit he scanned each pot for a sign of greenery, but found nothing until he reached Tsunemori’s hand. His breath caught.

Barely visible through the dark soil, the shoot parted the soil like a tiny, green volcano. Ginoza stared at it, convinced he was imagining the sight in his grief. But Tsunemori was there. She had no idea about his project, so there was no reason for her share his hallucination. He picked out the carefully written label.

“It’s a tomato.”

Gradually, a smile split across her face. It didn’t reach her eyes – they had seen too much unnecessary death for that today – but the smile was genuine, if small. Ginoza carefully replaced the tag and stared at the tiny seedling a little longer.

“Would you like a drink?”

Somehow, without meaning to, Tsunemori had saved him again.

No other seedlings appeared, so he put the majority of his efforts into the single tomato plant, reading every piece of literature he could find. The Kamui Case became worse with each day, and Tsunemori drifted away from them all one by one. Only Togane forced himself close, clinging to her like a parasite. Ginoza didn’t see her for days at a time, but once a week she would stop by to see the plant’s progress. She would comment on its leaves and later its flowers, then the tiny green spheres after Ginoza carefully pollenated it himself (no bugs found their way this far into PSB headquarters). Her shoulders hunched over with the weight she carried, but some of her stress seemed to ease when she stood in front of the now-thriving plant.

It was a strange ritual, but Ginoza was glad for a reason to get her away from the office, the case, and Togane. He feared the day he woke up to find the plant shrivelled up and beyond salvation, but despite the odds and Ginoza’s inexperience (a gardening qualification could only do so much), the tomatoes grew bigger and gradually started to change colour. He even looked forward to sharing the results with his team. Until Tsunemori’s grandmother was kidnapped.

Ginoza half-expected it to die in the fallout. Its leaves wilted and the nearly-ripe cherry tomatoes threatened to snap the stalk in two, but by the time the case was closed, Ginoza managed salvage it. By some miracle, another seedling had appeared and Ginoza decided to write Aoi’s name on the back of the label, and Risa’s on the tomato.

He didn’t dare tell Tsunemori, too afraid it would die the moment he did. Instead, he cultivated the two plants and tasted the first ripe tomato without mentioning it to the others. The flavour reminded him of the tomatoes his mother had grown when he was young, so there were many reasons the achievement felt bittersweet.

At work, he and Kunizuka juggled responsibilities with two barely functioning Inspectors. They forced their superiors out of the office as soon as work was complete in an attempt to slow their deteriorating mental health. Luckily, Sugo and Hinakawa were quick to catch on, and the four carried out their duties with an efficiency Ginoza couldn’t remember Division One ever experiencing.

Tsunemori finally approached him about his tomatoes just when the pepper plant started budding. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and threatened to choke him as he led her back to his room. He pointed out the newcomer and held his breath when Tsunemori picked up the tag and idly read both sides.

“It appeared soon after…” he trailed off. “I thought it was fitting.”

Tears gathered in her eyes as she clutched the plastic tag, but she managed to force a smile. Ginoza left her to her thoughts, grabbing the container of harvested tomatoes from the fridge. By the time he returned, the tag was back in the pot.

“It’s yours if you’d like it.”

Tsunemori nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. Ginoza clutched the small container, wanting to give her as much time as possible to compose herself, and knowing it probably still wouldn’t be enough.

“Can you look after it for me?” The extra moisture around her eyes caught the light, causing them to sparkle. “I would just end up killing it.”

She stared at the pot longingly. Ginoza awkwardly gripped the container, subtly shifting the weight from one hand to the other. It was a nervous habit he had started to pick up, focusing on the difference in touch between his hands. Gradually, he managed to find his resolve.

“I can teach you, if you’d like?”

Another smile. She whispered her thanks, although the sound was too quiet to reach his ears. Ginoza couldn’t believe the relief he felt. He held out the container for her before he could lose his nerve.

One of Tsunemori’s eyebrows arched in silent questions. However, she obediently took it and lifted the lid. She gasped at the contents and Ginoza felt his chest swell.

“Are they..?”

“I picked them last night.”

She grinned up at him as she took a tomato out, holding it by its stalk as she studied it. Ginoza caught himself staring a little too intently and quickly glanced away as she took a bite. She hummed in approval.

“This reminds me of Kagari’s cooking. I know it isn’t as nutritious, but there’s something about cultivated food that tastes better.”

Ginoza made a noise in agreement, remembering the smell and taste of freshly baked bread. Cafeteria meals were about getting the exact right amounts of prescribed vitamins and calories. Sometimes it was nice to enjoy a meal for its flavour. Not for the first time, Ginoza wished he was a better cook.

Tsunemori didn’t stay for a drink, but she did take the rest of the tomatoes with her when Ginoza insisted. Ginoza escorted her as far as he could out of the building. It may have been his imagination, but her steps seemed lighter and her shoulders less sloped as she walked through the corridors. She squeezed his hand in gratitude when they finally parted and Ginoza felt hope swell in his chest. They would continue to push forward together.

Barely a week after her grandmother’s funeral, Tsunemori produced a wooden box for Ginoza. It had a hinge on one side and a latch opposite, with ornate decorations along the top and sides.

“I mentioned to one of Granma’s friends you had a way with plants,” she explained as he opened the lid.

Inside were packets of seeds all standing in a line. Ginoza used his finger to flick through, recognising the names of vegetables and flowers from his childhood. He swallowed, but it did little to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat.

“They’re all out of date, so you might not get anything from them.”

His fingers stilled on the final sachet, which contained gerberas.

“We might as well try.”

Maybe nothing would come from his efforts, but Ginoza wanted to see out those possibilities for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> So according to http://kanshadou.com/pc/jan.html Ginoza's birthday flower is the gerbera. More generally, they're flowers that represent happiness and life, which seemed to fit Ginoza's aspirations here.


End file.
